Night at the Museum
I happened to be in the neighborhood — OK, I live in the neighborhood — but I happened to find myself out in front of the the Museum of Fine Arts last Wednesday night, and decided I needed a fine arts fix (sometimes I have to tear myself away from the bangable dudes in history blog and get me some real culture).
I've breezed through the new wing with friends, but haven't spent any alone time there, really getting to know the new space and the aht that occupies it. I want to let things die down a bit before I dig in. I don't know why it didn't register that Wednesdays were free admissions nights at the museum, which means it's usually pretty crowded. Anyway, I ducked in.
When it's like that, I sort of just let my agoraphobia guide me, and get as far from the madding crowd as I possibly can, which for some reason means I always end up in a tiny little side room off the Greek Sculpture gallery. It's probably the quietest corner in the museum — it's the room with the couples sarcophagi (talk about agoraphobia — in a casket two's a crowd) .
It's a great little nook, as one fellow Wednesday night found, for a nap...
While I was able to do a little exploring in the Art of the Americas wing (check out my photostream for highlights), I had the oddest experience while there. As I ambled through the galleries I heard excited whispers behind me. I picked up my pace when I heard creepy giggles punctuating the whispers. Pretending to eye an ancient sculpture I looked back to see three creepy kids — we're talking nine, ten, eleven year-olds and no adult in sight — whispering and tittering and glaring at me from a distance.
It was like something from the Shining.
It took me a good ten minutes to shake them. They followed me at a distance, whispering and tittering until, in the end, I busted a move in the Pharaoh's Tomb and ran all the way to the couples' sarcophagi. I felt safe there, with the Sleeping Man.
I don't know, it was a sinister night at the museum for me — everywhere I turned, some new horror. It happens. Museums can sometimes be like fever dreams, answering our fears with art...
They looked at you and thought you were one of the hunky statues come to life.
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That always happens when I wear my toga to the museum.
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